Anyone who claims to be an avid fan of the Duggar family’s meal ticket, TLC’s 19 Kids and Counting, and is surprised by the scandal that has rocked Josh Duggar and the rest of the brood over the past couple of days, probably hasn’t watched the show as closely as they should have.

Because I have watched the show closely, very closely in fact — and I wasn’t shocked in the least to learn that eldest child Josh Duggar has been accused of child molestation. Now, that doesn’t mean I saw him exhibiting any sort of kid-touching behavior — or, while I’m being completely honest, that I was ever a fan of the show. I freely admit that I have harbored a fascination with this family ever since they started appearing on my TV. I won’t go so far as to say that I “hate-watched” 19 Kids and Counting (even though I pretty much did) because I’d like to keep the word “hate” out of this post as much as possible. The Duggars themselves have left enough hate behavior in their wake anyway — matriarch Michelle Duggar recorded a transphobic robocall in 2014; Josh Duggar, up until yesterday, worked for the anti-gay lobbyist group Family Research Council, which likes to post bogus “studies” like this one.

For all of TLC’s attempts to present the Duggars as a wholesome, squeaky-clean Christian family who “may do things a little different,” there have been cracks in the veneer for years. Perhaps now that the cable network is being forced to re-examine the future of one of its biggest moneymakers, they will reconsider exactly what kind of message the Duggar family has been putting out there all this time. (TLC’s official statement is as follows: “Effective immediately, TLC has pulled all episodes of 19 Kids and Counting currently from the air. We are deeply saddened and troubled by this heartbreaking situation, and our thoughts and prayers are with the family and victims at this difficult time.”)

Even as recently as this past Tuesday, when TLC aired 19 Kids and Counting’s season finale, the relatability factor was dwindling rapidly. The finale consisted of a big family interview moderated by NBC’s Erica Hill, where the Jim Bob Duggar-led clan talked about the importance of side hugs and saving first kisses for marriage. But interspersed between the Duggars’ smiley judgment on anyone who might be tempted by the devil’s kiss, were regular folks on the street (shot in cities like New York and Washington, D.C.) being interviewed about the same topics and flat-out dismissing the necessity of such extreme limits on physical contact. Whether or not this was just TLC trying to present anything outside of Duggar-land as straight-up Bacchanalia, the bottom line is, there is a very, very wide cultural gap between the Duggars and the rest of the world, and no amount of visits by glamorous mainstream journalists to Arkansas is going to change that.

When it comes to the traumatizing events that occurred between a 14-year-old Josh and his five victims (some of whom may very well be his own sisters; the names are redacted, but if you read the police report, the victims in question have parents named “Jim Bob and Michelle”), the blame here needs to pointed at the Duggar parents. That doesn’t mean Josh shouldn’t be held accountable for his actions, Facebook apology or no, but, given both the information that has come to light about how his father, Jim Bob, handled the situation, and the repressive nature of the Duggar children’s upbringing — which has been documented on 19 Kids and Counting — the fault here lies with Mom and Dad.

Jim Bob and Michelle’s botched treatment of their son’s actions has been written about extensively, so I’ll just summarize: After Josh confessed his transgressions to his father, Jim Bob sat on the information for a year, instead of reporting it to the authorities (the Duggar family patriarch’s behavior here is appalling no matter what, but the fact that the victims could be his own daughters just makes this story all the more sickening. But, as mentioned above, Jim Bob apparently adheres to the strict rules of victim-blaming). Jim Bob also opted to seek guidance from church elders in lieu of professionally trained counselors: Josh’s “counseling” consisted of doing remodeling work for a family friend (read: not a certified therapist or counselor) for four months.

Now, molestation is inexcusable at any age, but it’s not like any of the homeschooled Duggars have received anything resembling a healthy version of sex education. In the 19 Kids and Counting season finale, Jim Bob waxed poetic on how he and Michelle regularly kissed before they were married and how deeply he regretted getting so frisky with his future wife. When Jill Duggar went to Nepal (with Jim Bob in tow, natch) to meet her now-husband, Derick Dillard, for the first time, TLC repeatedly aired a clip of Derick innocently putting his arm around Jill and Jim Bob swiftly moving his daughter out of Derick’s reach. A few months later, as Derick returned home to the U.S., he and Jill were so overcome with emotion upon their reunion at the airport that they gasp! had a full-frontal embrace — and much was made of this infraction by both Duggar parents in the episode. These kids have been taught to fear human contact so much that it wasn’t a question of “if” a Duggar would get into trouble for inappropriate physical behavior, but “when.” The more Jim Bob and Michelle emphasized “self-control,” the more confused these kids became.

I have held the same feelings about the Duggar children ever since I started watching 19 Kids and Counting, which is that no matter how many times they might traverse the globe (“The Duggars Go to Israel and Learn About a Mystical Religion Called Judaism!”) and superficially try to learn about other cultures (all the Duggar girls started sporting Star of David necklaces after their Israel trip, but many of their travels have been “mission trips,” i.e. attempts to convert others to their version of Christianity), they have been given an extremely narrow view of the world around them. And if that narrow view results in harming others, which I certainly feel it has in the case of five young women, then perhaps TLC should take a long, hard look at what kind of families it wants to showcase to its viewers.

While scrolling through Twitter feeds, going through daily Internet rounds or — kicking it old-school — flipping channels this week, most people were probably were hit with one form or another of “Weird Al” Yankovic’s media blitz. The man who introduced his musical-parody genius to the world via cable juggernaut MTV 30 years ago, was now upstaging his millennial-generation pop-artist peers by seamlessly playing the viral-marketing game like a finely tuned accordion. Between the release of one new video per day on websites ranging from Yahoo to PopCrush, and appearances ranging from Conan to the Fox Business channel, it was, to steal from the man himself, an Alapalooza.

If you haven’t taken a moment to savor Al’s take on 2014 pop culture, watch these videos of two songs off Mandatory Fun. I’ll wait.

“Word Crimes”: a pitch-perfect parody of Robin Thicke’s “Blurred Lines,” as well as a battle cry for all copy editors everywhere

“Foil”: It starts off using a common Weird Al formula (singing about food), but Al’s spoof on Lorde’s “Royals” takes an unexpected — and brilliant — shift

Sure, this was a successful marketing venture from both a financial and exposure standpoint. It’s pretty damn hard today for a 54-year-old man with corkscrew curls to trump artists half his age — and wearing half the clothing — in the entertainment industry, but Al has done it! But the heavy rotation of Weird Al on our iPhones and iPads has achieved something else, something more important. It’s caused the people of my generation (I’m somewhere around Generation X), the ones who grew up in the 1980s, for whom MTV was their Candy Crush/Twitter/Facebook/Spotify/BuzzFeed, to take a moment and reflect on how much this guy with the Hawaiian shirts, goofy glasses and mustache meant to our childhoods — and our appreciation of music and pop culture.

It’s funny, in my line of work, I’ve had the privilege of interviewing a multitude of celebrities, as well as just having them cross my path. There was that time I said hi to Paul McCartney in my office lobby. Or when Mick Jagger and Elton John walked by my desk (not at the same time). I’ll never forget greeting the Edge and shaking Bono’s hand. (It wasn’t work-related, but I once saw Kate Winslet in a doctor’s office) But sadly, I have not yet had the honor of meeting (or interviewing) the guy who brought so much joy and laughter to an eight-year-old girl who stayed up way past her bedtime whenever a new AL-TV special was broadcast. Maybe it’s because I’ve never been to one of his concerts, and — don’t hate me, Al! — I’ve never purchased any of his albums.

So what was it that fueled my obsession if I wasn’t listening to the records or begging my parents to take me to see the weird one in concert? Well, why else would I write about this on my TV blog — it was the medium of MTV, namely videos, that allowed Weird Al to clinch my “compleat” and utter admiration. Sure, the songs are funny, but what really made Al stick out in my mind were his re-enactments of Michael Jackson‘s and Madonna‘s classic videos. It was his wacky “takeovers” of the network that made him a star, it was his willingness to poke fun at himself and it was his uncanny ability to consistently have his finger on the pulse of the zeitgeist. So much so that I’m pretty certain I learned the lyrics to “Smells Like Nirvana” before I ever got my first copy of Nevermind.

The reason I felt so nostalgic for my history with Weird Al is because I realized this week that Al belongs to an elite group of music artists: The Eighties holdovers. Along with U2, Prince, Madonna and Metallica, Al’s career started and flourished in the Reagan era, and like the aforementioned artists, he has allowed himself to move and change with the times. Given his line of work, he has no choice if he wants to remain relevant in the age of YouTube, but Al’s incredible timing in poking fun at the right people at the right moment resulted in his having a more successful music career than several of the artists he’s parodied. See: Greg Kihn, El Debarge — yep, you read that correctly, El Debarge — Huey Lewis and the News and Robert Palmer.

Al made his name and career out of his playful, yet respectful, teasing of pop stars both he and the rest of the world adored. But too often, it’s his original songs that are overshadowed by tunes like “Perform this Way” and “White and Nerdy.” His Pixies style parody, “First World Problems,” got some Internet love yesterday as the sixth video released in the “Eight Days of Al” album rollout, but I highly recommend going back and listening to some of his “deeper cuts.” Here are my top five non-parody picks that showcase Al’s brilliance:

This nonsensical tale about a sauerkraut-hating dude who journeys to the land of Blue Sky and Los Pollos Hermanos is a 12-minute rock epic that somehow never gets tiresome (The A.V. Club agrees). It’s one of the few Al songs I embraced without a corresponding video. Obviously this is a must-see for Breaking Bad fans, but the final shot of Al with Bryan Cranston and Aaron Paul is just an overdose of awesomeness.

2. “Skipper Dan,” Internet Leaks (EP), 2009

He has a sensitive side! This is the one Weird Al song that makes me all misty-eyed — a bittersweet story about an aspiring actor whose Juilliard training and unbridled ambition has only resulted in a career as a Disneyland Jungle Cruise tour guide. You try watching this without crying.

3. “Dare to Be Stupid,” Dare to Be Stupid, 2005

This was my introduction to Devo, Al’s heartfelt homage to the New Wave gods. It near-traumatized me when I first saw it at age eight on The Compleat Al, and to this day, I have no idea what is happening in this video. I just know I want to be a part of that yellow-suit clad band — hello, a guitar that also toasts Pop-Tarts????

4. “Christmas at Ground Zero,” Polka Party, 1986

I learned so much about my parents’ childhood and the “duck and cover” drills they had to do from this video. The track — a pastiche of Christmas pop songs — is just so catchy — I dreamed of being one of Al’s backup singers for it.

5. “Polka Your Eyes Out,” Off the Deep End, 1992

No Weird Al album is complete without one of his polka medleys — and this one has always been my favorite. Probably because it was the first Al polka I ever heard (Camp Chipinaw, 1992).

Thank you, Weird Al, for letting me grow up with you. Do you mind sticking around for another 30 years? We’re always gonna need your smart, on-point take on this weird world we live in.

Now more than ever, there are endless television options to choose from, between broadcast, basic cable, premium cable, streaming services, etc. But I still have to call foul on the Television Academy’s decision to almost completely snub FX’s Cold War series The Americans. With so many popular serial dramas ending (Breaking Bad, Mad Men) The Americans poised itself, especially in its recent stellar second season, to be the Great White Red Hope of smart, riveting television. I found it to be a colossal fail that the show was not nominated for Best Drama Series, and even more so that Matthew Rhys was left out of the running for Best Actor in a Drama. I’ve been campaigning for the Welsh actor to score an Emmy nod since April, and should you need any further convincing of the Academy’s grave error in sending The Americans to the awards gulag this year, please feel free to read any of my Americans coverage for RollingStone.com.

Ultimately, my money’s on True Detective to take the Best Drama prize, as it was the only worthy breakthrough show of the five nominees, and it’s still fresh in people’s minds thanks to McConaughey fever. Breaking Bad, Mad Men, Game of Thrones and House of Cards, while all deserving of recognition, fall into that most awful of categories: Most Predictable Drama Series to Be Nominated. Too bad The Americans won’t even have a chance to play the dark horse card, because it’s the upsets that make all these awards shows bearable.

2. Orange Is the New Black FTW!

My Americans disappointment was quelled only by the announcement that a show set in a women’s prison might just knock America’s perfect politically correct clan off its pedestal. Look, I enjoy Modern Family as much as the average flyover state resident, but hasn’t it been honored enough? For those keeping track, it’s won Best Comedy Series a whopping four years in a row. We get it. It’s a funny show. But let’s move on and start celebrating the future of television cough streaming services cough.Orange Is the New Black picks up the torch from House of Cards and proudly marches Netflix alongside TV behemoths HBO, AMC, ABC, CBS and NBC — and I think it’s got a real shot at sending the Pritchett-Dunphy-Tucker family down to SHU. OITNB was also honored with a slew of acting noms (Taylor Schilling for Best Actress in a Drama, Kate Mulgrew for Best Supporting Actress in a Drama — although, it was their Season Two performances, not so much their Season One work, that are Emmy-caliber), most notably for audience favorites Uzo Aduba, Laverne Cox — making history as the first transgender Emmy nominee, and Natasha Lyonne each picking up nods for Guest Actress in a Comedy Series. Next year, I want to see Aduba, Yael Stone, Lorraine Toussaint and Samira Wiley duke it out in the Supporting Actress category.

3. The Normal Heart deserves it all

The Best TV Movie win is a given, and I would be perfectly fine with a four-way tie between Alfred Molina, Matt Bomer, Jim Parsons and Joe Mantello for Best Supporting Actor in a TV Movie or Miniseries. But, the edge has to be given here to Bomer, who was the cause of most viewers’ waterworks as he bravely showcased the agonizing deterioration of a New York Times reporter who slowly succumbs to AIDS, going so far as to drop an emaciating 40 pounds for the role. Much as I adored Parsons as “Southern bitch” Tommy Boatwright, he already has three Emmys on his mantle for The Big Bang Theory (and, no, I don’t think he needs to win for that show this year, either).

4. Who got hosed?

Matthew Rhys: I don’t care if he won the Best Actor in a Drama award last year, but Jeff Daniels does not deserve what should rightfully be Rhys’ spot in the 2014 roster. News flash, Mr. Anchorman, The Newsroom crashed and burned, and it’s ending this season, whereas The Americans still has a bright future ahead of it. Rhys’ performance this season was absolutely electrifying — whereas Daniels’ Will McAvoy can’t even turn on a light switch without an intern close by. Regardless, and with love to Bryan Cranston, Jon Hamm and Woody Harrelson, I think we can safely say that we should prepare for another round of “Alright, Alright, Alright.”

Jeffrey Wright: Considering Bobby Cannavale’s win last year for Best Supporting Actor in a Drama for his villain-of-the-season performace on Boardwalk Empire, I’m quite baffled at the Academy’s decision to not honor the actor who almost single-handedly turned the struggling HBO period piece into a captivating hour of television. Hey, I enjoyed gazing at Carson’s porcelain-white legs in that final scene at the seaside, but exactly what else did he do this season at Downton to garner Jim Carter another Emmy nom? Tough race between Jesse Pinkman’s triumphant escape, Tyrion Lannister’s make-or-break trial speech, or Will Gardner’s death.

Scandal: Everything is not coming up Mellie, it seems. No love for Bellamy Young in the Best Supporting Actress Drama category, despite her stealing every scene this season. The ABC political soap opera also came up short in the running for Best Drama, but with Breaking Bad and the Harrelson/McConaughey version of True Detective taking their final/only bows this year, it could allow Olivia Pope and Associates to slip right through to the front in 2015.

Overall, the 2014 nominees were the same predictable, institutional choices the Emmys are famous for. However, I applaud the Television Academy for opening its air-tight doors ever-so-slightly to the next generation of television (OITNB, True Detective, Fargo — Allison Tolman!!!!). As hard as it is to say goodbye to beloved favorites Breaking Bad and Mad Men, their nearing departures from the Emmy circuit will undeniably force the Academy to start recognizing deserving shows like The Americans and flying-under-the-radar actors like Tatiana Maslany.

He was loyal, he was protective and he was hunky, but even those admirable qualities couldn’t save Joe Manganiello’s Alcide Herveaux from True Blood’s Dead Club. Yes, it was a shocker and yes it crushes the dreams of those fans who remained #TeamAlcide, but in terms of narrative and development, Alcide’s death is the best thing to happen to True Blood in three seasons.

“Fire in the Hole” was an improvement on the first two episodes of Season Seven. However, in no way is the show all of a sudden good again, but it gives me hope that it’s now building up to an ending that will make all former and present fans happy. So while Alcide’s death — and to an extent — Maxine Fortenberry’s, lift a huge amount of dead weight off the show (literally and figuratively), I hope the writers continue the bloodbath. For two reasons: 1. It will never reach the intensity and audience devotion of Game of Thrones, but the death factor is what got True Blood fans excited about the story in the first place. i.e. Who’s going to die next? 2. The good news on that front is there are still plenty of characters that need to go: There’s self-proclaimed new mayor Vince (he’s a good stand-in for your average gun-rights-Tea Party crazy, but raise your hand if you care what happens to him next. He’s fulfilled his purpose in riling up the people of Bon Temps), Violet (I admire her warrior-woman qualities — immediately offering to help protect a human or wash Hep V blood off Sookie — but her relationship with Jason is beyond annoying), Arlene (stop fucking screaming over vampires already! How long have you lived in Bon Temps?), Holly (unless you really can pull off some Harry Potter shit you’re of no use to your friends or to the viewers), Nicole (please mention in the comments if you even know who this character is — no one would blame you if you didn’t. I don’t even think Sam remembers who she is), and, much as it pains me to say it: Willa. I had so much hope for this character last summer, but even though she was promoted to main cast this season, I have been quite disappointed in the writers’ lack of interest in her. Also, unless James and Lafayette get together and the relationship sticks, the vamp needs to go — much as I enjoy looking at him. He’s gay, Jessica is a woman (and we all want her back with Jason anyway), so it’s time for this forced relationship to meet the true death. Same goes for Adilyn, Wade and Rocky. As long as Sookie still has her faerie light, Adilyn can spend the rest of the season making out with Wade on the faerie plain, for all I care.

It’s no secret that the goal of this season is to bring Bill and Sookie back together, and the death knell was ringing for Alcide for a while now. He had settled into domesticity with Sookie (remember when that happened with Jessica and Hoyt? Didn’t turn out so well, did it?), despite the two having zero chemistry. Especially in last night’s episode, Alcide had devolved into pure caricature — going all Incredible Hulk once realizing Sookie went off with Bill to set a trap for the Hep-V vamps (he lost his shirt, his wolfie eyes lit up and he went berserk. Am I missing anything here?). The sad truth is, as much as we all liked looking at him, Alcide was always a peripheral character — he wasn’t even in the opening credits the third season, which was his only really worthwhile appearance. The writers didn’t even know what to do with him for Seasons Four-Seven, most of the time casting him in a D-level subplot that had nothing to do with the rest of the storyline. For heaven’s sake, Sookie’s flirtatious banter while BILL WAS UP IN A TREE had more heat than any skin-on-skin contact she ever had with Alcide.

Alcide’s presence was so unnecessary and irrelevant to the storyline that Sookie literally snuck out on the man she supposedly loved with her ex-boyfriend. If your boyfriend is a WEREWOLF and you’re opting for your bloosucking ex for protection, then, yeah, you really don’t need him around. Sorry, Al.

But, I was pleased with the way he went out. 1. We SAW him die (very, very important). 2. No closing-credits music, just mournful silence. Sookie, despite admitting to Bill that perhaps she didn’t love Alcide the way he deserved to be loved, appears genuinely shattered over his death, collapsing over his lifeless body in whispered weeps. But I think the most respectful thing she did for Alcide in that moment was to reject Jessica’s offer to turn him.

Which brings me to Alcide’s death vs. Tara’s death: I still believe the writers have something big in store for us regarding Tara, even if it’s in some spooky afterlife form. My theory is based on the most prosaic of factors, but I stand by it: Rutina Wesley’s name is still in the opening credits. Yes, she appeared in a ghostly form in last week’s episode, but despite not appearing at all in “Fire in the Hole,” there she was, plain as day, appearing after Ryan Kwanten’s name. In order to promote the is-he-or-isn’t-he-dead question, Alexander Skarsgård’s name was left out of the opening credits in the season premiere (Answer: Eric’s alive, albeit infected by Hep V). If Joe Manganiello’s name is missing from next week’s credits then that is proof positive that we’re going to be seeing Tara again. Especially if Lettie Mae finds more gullible vampires like Willa. There are plenty of other body parts for her to singe.

Anyone who checks out my Instagram feed is bound to stumble upon a Russ & Daughters image or two, or three, or 50. There’s not much I can do to set myself apart from the steady stream of R&D acolytes who have paid numerous visits to the storefront at 179 East Houston Street in Manhattan over the past 100 years. Everyone has their favorite bagel sandwich, everyone has their favorite anecdote. For the record: It’s pastrami salmon with a thin spread of horseradish cream cheese on a toasted poppy-seed bagel, and my favorite R&D anecdote happens to serve as the lede of this article for Gothamist.

If R&D had remained nothing more than the cramped cozy little shop on the Lower East Side that served up the best smoked salmon, caviar, and chocolate-covered graham crackers with a side of kibitz, we’d still be all right. We’d still step through that door, take a number, and wait patiently while marveling at row after row of pink, pristine fish and choice after choice of spreads (one taste of the whitefish and baked salmon can instantly cure a bad mood — try it, you’ll see). But lucky for us, fourth-generation owners Niki Russ Federman and Josh Russ Tupper knew better, and now, in the same place where the memories of overcrowded tenements have been overshadowed by high-rise luxury co-ops, we can have our babka French toast and eat it too — while sitting down!

This is just a long and flowery way of saying that I visited the brand-new Russ & Daughters Cafe for one hell of a Friday-night dinner yesterday. You can read the Yelp reviews, or you can read this New York Times article on that prominently features the LES restaurant, or you can Google the scores of blogs that have also written about the perfect pairing of old-world recipes and the adventurousness of 21st-century foodies. It’s all been said already. My two cents? It’s very easy for me to take New York for granted: I grew up in the suburbs; my family has always lived here; it’s a part of my fiber. Very rarely do I go somewhere in this city and say to myself, “Thank G-d I live just a subway ride away.” Well, that was my reaction upon finishing my meal at the Russ & Daughters Cafe. With my penchant for travel and desire to eat my way through entire states (See: Tennessee. June 14-19, 2014), it’s usually restaurants in faraway cities that stick out as precious gifts the locals should hold close to their vests. Not this time. To steal a term from Grub Street, all self-respecting New Yorkers should dine at the Russ & Daughters Cafe sooner rather than later. This place is a point of pride for our city. Historically and gastronomically.

The place mat/menu. Already I’m planning to come back for brunch.

Appetizing appetizers: On the left is the aptly named Super Heebster — whitefish and baked salmon salad (dying!), wasabi-infused fish roe and horseradish dill cream cheese on bagel toast. To the right are the Sours — pickles, pickled tomatoes, carrots and fennel

The main event: The husband and I went for the open-faced sandwich boards (each wooden board is repurposed from the R&D shop counter!). I got the Classic: Gaspe Nova, cream cheese, tomatoes, onion and capers. Dig the drinks: Smoked-pepper-infused-vodka Bloody Mary (there are four kinds of Bloody Marys served at the Cafe — can’t wait to try them all) and lemon-lime soda that tasted extra cold and extra tangy thanks to the stainless-steel reusable straw.

Leave it to Russ and Daughters’ very own Yenta (you think I’m kidding? That’s what it says on her business card) Jen Snow to steer us in the right direction dessert-wise. This is halvah ice cream. A decadent blend of sweet, salty, sesame and all-around mouthgasm. Thanks again for the treat, Jen!

I’m a good Jewish girl, and I promised my mother I’d get an old-fashioned chocolate egg cream (yes, made with Fox’s U-Bet) in her honor.

These drawings are on the walls all over the restaurant, and anyone who’s been to Russ and Daughters at least once will get the references.

There is no way I can write about True Blood without it devolving into cliché: As is the case with so many fans and critics, my relationship with the campy HBO drama has been like a bad marriage. I was infatuated throughout Seasons One and Two, the steamy gothic romance between small-town waitress Sookie Stackhouse and debonair Civil War-era vampire Bill Compton making me giddy in my lady parts. But by Season Three I started to notice something going sour, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it at the time (the answer was were-panthers). Season Four was that last-ditch effort to hold on (amnesiac Eric) to what we had before, and by Seasons Five and Six things had just deteriorated into full-on disgust. There were too many new characters (everyone in the Authority, Scott Foley, Warlow) and too many unnecessary and cumbersome subplots (“Billith”; Joe Manganiello pretty much starring in his own sitcom called Alcide’s Adventures — That No One Gives a Shit About). But now that the seventh and final season of True Blood is here, it feels like the divorce proceedings are under way, and it’s going to be an amicable outcome. I’m tired of railing against how bad the show has become, worn out from bemoaning the loss of a smart, sexy, thought-provoking series that originally intended to shed light on American political hypocrisy and LGBT themes. So, while I can’t entirely sit back and just let the show take its course — not after all the recaps and articles I’ve written on the subject, both for RollingStone.com and on Tumblr — I am at peace with the majority of its mistakes and wrong turns.

I applaud showrunner Brian Buckner’s decision to bring the narrative not only back to Bon Temps, but to refocus the story on the core characters. However, at this late stage, the damage to the show has already been done, and from what I’ve seen of the first two episodes of the season (full disclosure: I have already viewed the episode airing Sunday, June 29), True Blood is little more than a hollow shell of its former self. There is no better example of this fact than an early scene from this coming Sunday’s episode, in which two popular male characters engage in what can best be described as the ultimate fantasy of any person with some semblance of a libido. Unfortunately, True Blood has been there, done that so many times that the aforementioned scene just comes off as anticlimactic (in more ways than one). See also: Violet and Jason up against a car.

Other than remaining genuinely invested in Jessica and Pam — the only characters left with the ability to steal scenes — the only plotline I’m still interested in is that of WTF happened to Tara? And that’s only because what’s going on with her is — no pun intended — making my blood boil. Within hours of Tara’s ostensible, offscreen staking, actress Rutina Wesley was making the press rounds, confirming that her character was indeed dead. Now, any fairweather True Blood viewer knows that “dead” doesn’t necessarily mean dead. Vampire elf Godric appeared more as a personification of Eric’s conscience than he ever did as actual flesh-and-undead-blood. Plus, Tara does show up in this Sunday’s episode — but given TB’s penchant for flashbacks, dreams and apparitions that should hardly qualify as a spoiler.

My issue with Tara’s supposed death comes from what went down last season, in which Buckner told me, “One of our principal characters will not make it all the way through the season.” And with all due respect to Todd Lowe (whom I’ve had the pleasure of interviewing twice during his TB tenure) and his dreamy, puppy-dog eyes, devoting almost an entire episode to mourn Terry Bellefleur while Tara — who has always been more of a “principal” character than the USMC vet — is disposed of offscreen just seems downright disrespectful. That and, after Tara spent six seasons as Bon Temps’ unluckiest resident, dodging maenad possession, grieving a murdered boyfriend, being terrorized by a sociopathic vampire, and getting shot in the head by a vengeful werewolf only to be turned into a vampire — she was killed off without so much as a moment of reflection from her friends and family? Instead of crying his eyes out over his cousin, Lafayette spent more time listening to hippie-generation vampire (and new love interest) James talk about how the peace, love and understanding Sixties really meant baseball-bat beatdowns if you were gay. It just doesn’t add up. If any character in the True Blood universe deserves to be at peace, it’s Tara Thornton. And so far, I don’t see her spirit being laid to rest anytime soon.

So that’s why I believe Rutina Wesley’s comments to the press are all part of a grand red herring. The writers must have something real special in store for Tara, because offscreen deaths just aren’t how True Blood rolls. We all saw Eric Northman and his Viking penis go up in flames at the end of Season Six, but wiping Alexander Skarsgård’s name from the season-premiere credits doesn’t even come close as an acceptance of his character’s true death. Spoiler/not-really-a-spoiler alert! You’re gonna see him again Sunday. Also, whether she really is a pile of goo, an apparition or just taking a TruBlood break, remember, Tara has been”dead” for two seasons now — she’s a vampire!